


Gone for a Burton

by Luka



Series: University AU [9]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19227658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Stephen and the other university staff are bemused by the mysterious Philip Burton and his new unit, which houses an unexpected extra.





	Gone for a Burton

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a Primeval Denial art challenge using kristen_mara's splendid artwork of the action models of Nick and Stephen (and a mysterious critter!) standing in front of Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night.. The story is set in the university AU universe where Lester is deputy vice-chancellor, Ryan the head of security, Lorraine an economics lecturer, Sarah an Egyptology post-doc, Jenny the university's PR guru and Claudia is head of Quality Assurance. Rain_sleet_snow created the universe, and Fredbassett very kindly let me borrow Ditzy (Dave) and Blade (Niall). Davina Bowie is my OC. 
> 
> If you want to read Rain_sleet_snow's stories, she has them on her AO3 account under the Smart People series tag. To avoid confusion, I'm going to name my series as University AU. Original, or what! The stories are gen ones in a slash universe.
> 
> And at this point the series sort of sprouted a plot ...

“What on earth is all this shouting about? There are exams going on!” Lorraine didn’t usually have to raise her voice to control an unruly room of students, but it took her three attempts to be heard over Dave Owen and mad Professor Cutter having a set-to outside the main hall on the campus. 

Dave favoured her with a sour look and muttered: “Don’t I bloody know it!”

Cutter was in vocal over-drive, and all Lorraine could make out were imprecations about students and how he felt like a Weston-super-Mare donkey.

She said firmly: “Nick, slow down. What are you talking about?”

There was a further burst of violently rolled rrrrrrrs, and a tirade about how it wouldn’t have happened in his day.

Lorraine sighed and raised an eyebrow at Dave. He seemed just about to explain when there was a discreet cough from a young man next to him, who was hopping from one foot to the other.

“Um, sorry guys, but I really really do have to go. That Red Bull goes straight through me …”

“Yeah, all right, come on, mate. And you’re bloody lucky I’m not going to tie a knot in it for you – I’ve got cold hands!”

Lorraine noticed a shambling youth standing behind Cutter, who’d gone red with embarrassment beneath a shocking case of acne. Cutter snapped something at him as Dave stamped off towards the disabled toilet with his lad in tow.

A message on her mobile from Sarah distracted Lorraine from her progress towards the library. As she was checking in, Dave returned and, with a pointed look at the student, said: “Exam finishes in 16 minutes. I’m going to need a lot of coffee … Now, sunny Jim, get your arse in gear and finish that sodding exam. My maiden aunt who knows naff-all about biology could have finished the paper in half an hour.”

*~*~*~

Lorraine had a large black coffee and huge wedge of chocolate cake waiting for Dave when he barrelled into the refectory. He plonked himself down next to her on the sofa, proved beyond all doubt that he really did have an asbestos mouth by draining most of the steaming drink in one gulp, and then made swift inroads into the cake.

He sat back and wiped his mouth with a serviette. “Bless your cotton socks, Lorraine, I needed that.”

“So why was Nick shouting the odds earlier?”

Dave rolled his eyes. “He really is a git sometimes. We were both invigilating in the main hall. Bloody cast of thousands in there, including my lot, some of his third years, and a load of Sports Science students. Little bastards have got bladders the size of teabags. So it’s been a constant procession of invigilators escorting the students to the bogs. I’ve seen the inside of more toilets today than George Michael has.”

At this point, Sarah joined them, heard Dave’s final assertion and snorted Coke from both nostrils. Lorraine sighed and supervised the mop-up operation with a handful of tissues and two wet wipes. Dave grinned unrepentantly and went to buy them more coffee.

When he was back and Sarah was damp but rather less sticky than she had been, Lorraine said: “How on earth did anyone get Nick to invigilate? He thinks things like that are beneath him and palms them off on poor Stephen.”

“Ah, now, the Dean finally grew some balls and told staff that if their subject area required an exam, then they had to invigilate it themselves. Apparently some of the exam papers have been all over the shop, with questions left out or duplicated, so the idea was for the person responsible to be there.”

“Nick, write his own exam paper? What planet is the Dean living on?”

“Which will be why it all went smoothly, then! Stephen’s a good lad.”

“I’m amazed Nick deigned to escort students to the loo, though …”

“He didn’t have much choice. Out of the five invigilators in the room, only two of us were male, and at least two-thirds of the room were lads. And uni rules say that the senior invigilator in a room is the person with the most students – and that was Davina Bowie from Sport. Nick’s scared shitless of her, so he could hardly complain.”

“But why were you and he arguing?”

“Because I couldn’t make the silly fucker understand that only one student and invigilator can be out of the room at any time. It was like a bloody French farce with him running in and out and haranguing all and sundry … Anyway, enough of Cutter the Nutter. Are you going to this glad-handing event tonight?”

Lorraine nodded.

“Thank gawd for sane company. I’d better go and roust Hils out of the library. See you later.” He dropped a kiss on the tops of their heads and strode for the door.

*~*~*~ 

“Looks like someone’s puked up on the canvas.” Niall Richards crunched on a canapé with unnecessary violence.

Jenny Lewis tutted fondly, slipped her arm into his and led him off to restock his plate. Lorraine shrugged as Sarah muttered out of the corner of her mouth that Niall and his knives had clearly seen off that ginger cop who’d been hanging around Jenny.

It was obvious where the money was being targeted in CMU these days – this buffet was a vast improvement on the usual curled-up sandwiches and breaded snacks of dubious provenance. But then it was abundantly clear that Philip Burton was calling the tune when it came to the university’s new incubation unit, of which he had been appointed chief executive. No one was quite sure what it was supposed to do, but it all looked very cutting edge with modern art on the walls and comfy sofas decorating what used to be the staff refectory. All objections had been over-ruled and now the lecturers and administrators had to slum it in the chaotic student canteen, ruled over by the frankly terrifying toothless Glo and her team.

The official opening of the unit had attracted the usual band of schmoozers and hangers-on. No one knew where the mysterious Burton had come from, but the usually uncannily accurate university grapevine had it that he was chums with the local MP, and a shoo-in for a safe seat at the next election. So there were plenty of folk happy to hang on to his immaculately-tailored coat-tails.

“Sounds like a fucking mother and baby unit,” muttered Niall, dispatching half a dozen delicate profiteroles with indecent haste, having snitched them from under the aquiline nose of James Lester.

“What does?” asked Jenny, smiling her thanks as Claudia Brown handed her another glass of very good champagne.

“Incubation unit. What the fuck is it anyway?”

“Most places call them enterprise units and they’re meant to build links with local firms and support students who might want to set up their own business when they leave,” said Lester shortly, favouring Claudia with a smile as she helped him to a slice of Black Forest gateau.

“Waste of fucking time,” said Niall. “Any student with half a brain’d be out the door as soon as they could.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Mr Richards.”

“Well, it’s true. And why the fuck did it get called an incubation unit, then?”

Lester managed to make a shrug look elegant. “You’ll have to ask Mr Burton that.” And he glided off, Tom Ryan following on his heels.

“James didn’t mean that literally,” said Jenny hastily, as Burton was approaching with entourage in tow. He was a darkly handsome man of about 50, dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit.

“Ah, Miss Lewis. So nice to see you. Perhaps you could introduce me to this charming lady.”

Behind his back, Dave mimed hitting a buzzer, and muttered to Niall: “Double whammy there, mate. It’s Ms Lewis. And Ms Brown is a charming woman, not a lady.”

“You in touch with your sensitive side all of a sudden?”

“Nope. I just prize my balls, and don’t fancy them being ripped off and handed to me on a plate …”

Hilary Becker rolled his eyes and Dave favoured him with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, Hils, you’re the only one who’ll get anywhere near my balls …”

Becker’s expression could have soured milk. It was a tribute to his hair products that nothing moved a millimetre when he tossed his head and flounced over to where Emily Merchant and Matt Anderson were staring, bemused, at a wall of art that looked like it had been produced by the sprogs in the crèche.

*~*~*~

“Ugh, what a creep!” Claudia gratefully accepted another glass of wine and beamed her thanks at Lorraine, who had neatly rescued them from Burton. Lorraine, not much of a drinker, allowed herself a small top-of of wine and wondered when they could go home.

“Sadly he’s the favoured child with the powers that be at the moment,” said Jenny, frowning as Niall began to clean his nails with an unfeasibly large knife.

“And who’s that gormless piece staring doe-eyed at him?”

“That’s the delightful April Leonard. She’s his PA and you don’t get to speak to him without grovelling at her feet.”

Claudia started to reply, but she was drowned out by what sounded like the yowling of a pack of wolves. A huge, dark furry form shot out of Burton’s inner lair, a bedraggled young man hanging hopelessly onto a length of rope around the creature’s neck, a grubby trilby hat flying from his head and landing upside down in the large bowl of punch which dominated the lavish buffet.

“Who let that stupid boy out?” demanded Cutter. It was a well-known fact that Connor Temple was the bane of his life.

“You signed the forms agreeing to him doing work experience over here,” pointed out the dreamy Stephen Hart.

Cutter’s response was what Lester would term unhelpful, as Connor and the creature disappeared at speed into University Square. Niall Richards whistled a few bars of ‘Who Let the Dogs Out,’ earning himself a death stare from Burton, who was bawling instructions and curses at all-comers.

Cutter opined loudly that it wasn’t ‘bring your pet to work’ day, and that some blithering idiot would be bringing their sprogs in next.

“Too late,” muttered Dave. “The bloody military nurses look younger every sodding year. I have to resist the temptation to ask whether their mothers know they’re out and whether they’ve cleaned out their pet rabbits. Or taken their puppy for a walk. And I seem to have escorted most of them to the loo today, although thankfully no arse-wiping was required!”

“That’s not a bloody dog,” said Stephen surprisingly vehemently, staring after the canine taking Connor for a walk. “It’s an amphicyon.”

“And what the fuck are they when they’re at home?” asked Dave.

“Or not at home in this case,” muttered Niall.

“They’re known as bear dogs,” said Stephen, eyeing the creature’s trail of destruction warily.

“This isn’t some bloody trendy crossbreed, is it?” said Dave.

“I doubt it. From memory, they were last around Europe about eight million years ago.”

Stephen, Niall, Dave and Hilary looked at each other, looked at the hysterical masses and set off in hot pursuit of the creature and its hapless attendant.

*~*~*~

Dave said later that the whole saga was like Keystone Cops, with people tearing around the campus trying to head off the runaway critter. In the end, it was down to the efforts of scary Sports Science lecturer Davina Bowie and her lacrosse gals, who penned in the animal on the playing fields with their sticks. When Stephen and Co appeared with nets, they found Clarissa, the big, hearty captain, petting it and making a fuss of it. She favoured them with a glare and laid down the law in no uncertain terms as to how they’d frightened the poor thing with all the screaming and shouting and arm-waving. 

“Bloody hell,” said Dave with feeling, as they walked back to the reception. “If that lass ran Network Rail, we’d have no bollocks about leaves on the track or the wrong sort of snow.”

Ahead of them were Burton and his four-legged friend, which now seemed surprisingly docile. Connor Temple, meanwhile, had been fished out of the campus water feature and sent home to change.

“Never mind that,” said Stephen, clearly disturbed by the whole escapade. “I want to know what Burton’s doing with a creature from eight million years ago. And before you ask,” he added, heading off Niall’s query, “I know exactly what it is. It’s my bloody subject area. And I want to know what that creep’s doing with it.”

“Ryan won’t be happy if we start poking around,” observed Becker.

“That’s an understatement,” said Dave. “Ryan’s very old school about these things. He doesn’t like amateurs poking around on his territory.”

“I don’t care!” said Stephen. “He doesn’t know about amphicyons. I do. So are you with me or not?”

The four of them stopped outside and looked at each other. Then they nodded in unison and went back inside the reception.


End file.
